Missing
by blue paper hearts
Summary: Tony and Ziva talk about their parents, the dead and the distant.


**Note! **I wanted to have a story about Ziva and Tony discussing their parents because both had hardships when it came to parental love. And so, I made it take place in France, because not only was it easier to write, but because everyone puts them as lovers in Paris because both lied about the bed. I think that nothing really happened, but that's my opinion.

**Disclaimer! **I do not own NCIS or any of it's characters or any of the actors.

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><p>Paris, France. A city of life and joy, of twinkling lights and breathtaking views. A place of love and romance, of family and friendship.<p>

Leaning against the railing of their hotel room balcony, Ziva smiled softly to herself, admiring the dots that highlighted both different parts of the famous city and the dark night sky. Though she was not here on vacation, and oh how did she wish she was, she still took her time in admiring the beautiful landscape the populous cit managed to posses.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Ziva bit back the urge to jump at the sudden voice, because she was a trained Mossad assassin, a person who was bred not to get startled by even the most frightening of things. Instead, she settled for giving her companion a quick, sparing glance, before returning to looking at the European city.

"Yes, it is."

Beside her, she noticed Tony settle himself so he too was leaning comfortably on the railing, but because of his tall stature, he was more hunched over with his arms resting on it then actually leaning on it like her.

"I came here once, when I was a kid," the Italian blooded man said, and the Israelite beside him prepped herself for the oncoming boast about how it had been spectacular, indescribable, the typical barrage of boastful words that _always_ came from the lips of Tony DiNozzo.

However, this bragging session she was expecting, never came.

"How was it?" Ziva offered, waiting to hear this bragging story that the typical Tony would have started without hesitation.

Then again, perhaps Ziva should have been expecting this, considering that the usually chatty Tony had been uncharacteristically quiet once they had gotten to the hotel. Outside of the hotel, he was full of life and stories and words, but once they got to the hotel, he was quiet. He offered the basic questions—"do you want this?" or "any preference for dinner?"—and the most simplistic of answers—yes, no, sounds great. It seemed more like Gibbs was at the hotel with her than Tony, and that was frightening in itself.

"Better than Maui," Tony said quietly after several moments, staring at his hands. "I at least got to get out of the hotel on the trip here."

"You did not go out of the hotel room when you were in Maui?" Ziva would reluctantly admit that her interest was sparked in this conversation—after all, it did not seem Tony was about to be boastful about any of it. Actually, it seemed like he was being unconditionally truthful and sincere, and that these memories were brining up old wounds and a barrage of new pains that were not exactly pleasant.

"Nope," Tony said, still staring at his hands, a frown marring his boyishly handsome features—not that she would ever admit that description to him. She would never hear the end of it. "Dad had to go back to the mainland for two days on a 'business deal'. Of course, that 'deal' included a rather beautiful divorcee."

"I am, uh, sorry to hear th—wait, what about your mother?"

"She died when I was eight."

The nonchalance—the frankness, the candor—of the statement was capable of throwing even the best Mossad—or CIA or FBI or whatever other government agency that felt a very strong need to make sure their agents were _very _good emotional concealers—agent off their guard, and that group did include Ziva. However, it was only a second later before she regained her—perfectly kept—composure.

"I am sorry to hear that. I too know that feeling."

"Not something pleasant to endure," Tony admitted quietly, and Ziva nodded her agreement.

"So your father left you in a hotel room for two days?"

"Yeah. He'd left me in them before, but usually only for a few hours. Never two days."

"Sounds like something that could leave a mark on the flesh," Ziva said, messing up yet another idiom, though it wasn't the worst of mistakes. There had been plenty, and there had definitely been worse.

"Scar on the heart," Tony corrected her absently, and Ziva nodded, with that slightly glazed look that said she did not fully understand where she went wrong. "And yes, between that, boarding schools, and summer camp, my childhood was miserable."

"It could not have been _that _bad."

"No, not really. The boarding school was dreadful, but the summer camps provided constant movement and fun. But… I never had any… parental love. That made it terrible."

Briefly, Ziva wondered just what all Tony was hiding. It seemed that behind his charades of laughter and jokes, there was a deep enigma to Tony. And something, deep inside her, told Ziva that she was never going to be able to put it all together. Nobody would ever get to put it all together. Not because Tony wouldn't tell them the entirety of the story—because even Ziva had faith that the currently womanizing Tony DiNozzo would one day find the girl for him, and they would be perfectly happy, complete with the story book ending—but because nobody experienced the same experiences he did, and it was that fact that Ziva knew Anthony DiNozzo Jr. would always be just a twinge of a mystery to the world.

"Your fathers recent visit was quite upsetting," Ziva said, leaving no room for questions or accusations. It was a simple statement that was meant to be definitive.

"A bit, yes," Tony allotted, leaving the discussion of his personal life at an end there. There were some things that even Tony DiNozzo did not wish to burden others with. "What about you and your father?"

"Eli is dead to me, prairie as that."

"Plain as that, Ziva. Like simple-plain, not grassland-plain."

"Oh," Ziva said, nodding her head again as she digested the new information.

"I'm sorry to hear that, too. About your father being dead to you now."

"There is not much that can be done. Issues arrive and depart."

"Come and go."

"Whatever."

"It's getting late and I want to get a head start tomorrow so I can get as many pictures as possible in before getting the witness. Night, Ziva," Tony said, quickly kissing her on the cheek and ruffling her hair before walking back into the darkness of the hotel room.

Ziva stood silently for several long moments, thinking about what had been said, before following Tony back into the hotel room.

That night, the two teammates could be found comfortably sleeping with their arms around each other, silently proclaiming into the night air and their dreams that despite their hardships as kids because of their parents—that deceased and the distant—things would be better. One way or another.

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><p><strong>I value opinions. So… review?<strong>


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